Hey all! Next chapter is ready to go. Happily, I finished the whole series last night (woooo!) and so I'm posting ch. 27 and ch. 28 this week (likely Monday/Wednesday, though I may just put them all up). Then, I'm going to go through and clean up the version that are posted — I've tightened the continuity in several of the earlier pieces. I'm also going to add a little commentary to each of them, about why 'x' choice was made or whatever, update some of the epigraphs, and update the chapter titles to be simpler. Finally, I'll post a list of all of the chapters in chronological order, in case that sounds like your jam. It's 352 pages in GoogleDocs, though, so I can't imagine why you would want to do that!

Thanks again for everyone who is still reading hundreds of pages in. These were not easy or light, despite my billing of "fluff." It means the world to me that you stuck around! I'm very happy how the series turns out, and hope you are as well.

The book of love is long and boring

No one can lift the damn thing

It's full of charts and facts and figures

And instructions for dancing

- "The Book of Love," The Magnetic Fields

February

"Sloan. Thanks for coming by," Reese says, his arms folded formally in front of him. Behind him, Charlie leans against the lower bookshelf, arms crossed, face ruddy. He looks like he's about to explode. "I know it's Valentine's Day."

"It's OK. My husband's bosses are unreasonable and he works until almost midnight," she jokes lightly. She's a little nervous. She rarely has to have meetings with Reese, and they're never for good things. But when your boss's boss tells you to come to his office for a nine p.m. meeting, you come. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Reese says. "But I do have a problem."

She turns her head, her stomach flipping twice before she steels it. Focus, Sabbith. "OK. Can I … be of help solving that problem?"

"I hope so. My problem is the two o'clock hour. I think it's too financial. I've done some research and none of the, you know, opinion leaders, the Wall Street titans, the political office, none of them are really watching us. The moms, they might, but they think we're making fun of them. Something about you being really smart, I don't know? I think that instead of a financial show, it should be a more news-of-the-day thing. Some politics, some finance, but mostly just genial. Morning television but in the afternoon. The world isn't falling apart, so have an afternoon coffee and a laugh with us. That type of coverage. You see my vision?"

"I ... think I need a little more explanation," she says carefully. Because two o'clock is her show. She's never completely trusted Reese, and this is only confirming her sneaking suspicions, despite Charlie's faith that he's turned from the dark side.

"I was hoping you could help me out by moving to the 7 p.m. hour."

Not at all what she was expecting. "What?"

"We want you to take 7 p.m.," Charlie says, the words finally spilling from him as she realizes the ruddy cheeks were due to pride. "We want you to keep the four o'clock — leading a team, the format will change — then serve as the lead-in to NewsNight."

"By yourself," Reese adds. "You and a desk."

"I — wow — really?"

"Yup."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"I've only been here four years. And I'm an economist." She's trying to think of someone else who ascended so rapidly. Will, but he'd been a regular on Sunday morning shows for years before becoming the legal correspondent. Katie Couric, back in the day, but she was no Katie Couric. She makes sandwiches.

"You know, most people get an offer like this, they say thank you," Reese says, but she can see the hint of a smirk.

"Yeah, but it's Sabbith," Charlie says, a jovial grin on his face. "Remember when she turned down the morning show?"

"True. And Don once told me that she tried to get out of her first sub for Elliot."

"In her defense, she did do half the broadcast in Japanese and end up suspended."

"Alright!" Sloan says. "I get it. Thank you."

"Sloan, we know you might think it's quick but since you've started doing primetime segments you've jumped through every hoop we've given you. You handled yourself well during Genoa and the elections, which wasn't easy. You covered Sandy Hook. Barring That Time I Will Not Speak About Again —"

"You mean, That Time You Totally Just Referenced A Minute Ago?"

"Yes. Barring that time, you've risen. And we think you're going to rise more. ACN wants to be your home for a very long time, and we think you're the face of the next wave of programming here at ACN. We can't give you primetime, but we can give you an evening spot."

"I — thank you."

"Now, have you booked the honeymoon yet?"

"Yeah. The first two full weeks in May." They'll be at a resort in Phuket and they're leaving their Blackberrys with Mac.

"Great," Charlie says. "We'll start putting together the new two o'clock hour, to debut that first day you're gone. When you come back, you'll just do the four o'clock for two weeks, and then we'll launch the new show after Memorial Day."

"Mac's suggested Jim Harper as a possible EP. Totally up to you — you can bring Julia, if you want. But that's the most important decision you have to make."

Julia has a four-year-old and a seven-year-old and her husband is a cop who works cop hours. She absolutely does not want the hours that a primetime or evening show would bring. "I think she'd like to stay at 4 o'clock, with the panel, or whatever. I like Jim for primetime."

"Great," Reese smiles. "Well, we'll start talking with your agent for goals. But I think we'd like to see about one million flat, from the 600K we're pulling in now." It's an ambitious metric: Will's pulls ratings just over 1.4 on the reg, but there are still plenty of nights that the Face of ACN himself doesn't even hit that target.

"Starting salary a mil," Charlie adds.

It's low, she thinks, but it's five times as much as she's making right now, and double what she was expecting in her contract renegotiation this year. She grins broadly. "I guess you'll talk with Sarai this week?" Sarai is Sloan's own Ari Gold, with a Long Island accent and a weakness for a sale at Saks. She's the most intimidating person Sloan has ever met, and she adores her.

"Call her tomorrow; I'm booking her for lunch on Monday."

Charlie looks up at the clock. "Don is still doing prep, if you want to go talk to him. Or do something else — I'll knock this time."

"That was officially a year ago. You gotta let it go, Charlie," she smiles. "The jokes have been made." She rises. "I — thank you."

"Don't thank us — you earned this," Charlie says.

She walks calmly (but sneakily) to the elevator, heads down to the newsroom. Don's not in his office, with any of his producers, or in the newsroom, and she's about to give up when she finally spots him coming out of the edit bay. She scoots over. "Guess what? It's awesome."

"Game of Thrones is coming back early?"

"No. I wish, though," she says, because it has been too long.

"Nerds," Gary fake-coughs as he walks past.

Realizing that there are people around, she grabs his wrist and pulls him into the supply closet. "What is this, a TV drama? Are you killing me or making out with me?"

"What? Neither," she smiles. "Guess what?"

"I'm not going to guess, so let's cut to the chase."

"I'm getting my own show."

"Sloan — you have two of those."

"No. At night. The lead-in to News Night. 7 p.m."

His eyes widen into an appropriate double take. "What? Babe. That's fantastic." He hugs her tightly, lifting her off the ground a bit. "We're going out to celebrate tonight, ok?"

"Hell yes," she says.

"Did he give you a mandate?"

"Reese wants to see a million viewers."

"That hour's pulling what, 590K, 600, right now?"

"Yeah, I think so." That sounded like what Reese said.

Don looks troubled. "You up their viewership by forty percent and what Reese can charge for ads goes up twenty-five percent. If you hit those marks, they're making an extra four hundred grand a night. More if you pull in more in the demos. They'll pay your salary in half a week. What are they offering?"

"A million, but it's not just my salary —"

"They'll cover the operating costs in three weeks, tops, and then it's all profits. You should ask for more."

"Obviously, and I will, but I have to hit the marks."

"You will."

"You're awfully confident."

"You have six hundred fifty thousand Twitter followers and you host two daytime shows. Those daytime hours are two of the highest-rated for the network despite being focused on the topic that honest-to-god always comes in last when viewers are asked to rate what's most interesting to them. Besides, Anderson makes eleven mill, and he pulls in six hundred thousand on a good night when he's practically naked in the middle of a hurricane in Pakistan."

"I don't think that's —"

"I was being dry to make a point. You should ask for more."

"Let me talk it out with Sarai."

"Alright," he says. "I gotta prep." He kisses her. "Congratulations. I'm really — I'm proud of you. You deserve this."

She's about to make an "aw, shucks, Dad' joke, but something stops her. "Thanks, pal," she says instead, running her palm down his cheek.

Don cracks the door open and surreptitiously looks around. He jerks his head, signaling she can follow, and they sneak out.

Or so they think: As they're exiting, Charlie is rounding a corner. "Oh, for crying out loud," he exclaims in a half-groan. "What is with you two?! We're a professional news organization!" He marches off.

Don pauses. "Should we —"

"Nah," she shakes her head with a laugh. "Have a great show, alright?"

After the show they do oysters and champagne at a hole in the wall off Broadway before tucking toward home. Home. As she's unlocking the door to their condo he places distractingly gentle kisses on her neck and ghosts his hands up her waist. The moment, however, is quickly interrupted once they open the door and Clem starts whining from the crate in the kitchen. Sloan disentangles herself from Don to let the poor girl out, and she immediately lunges forward to start licking Sloan's face.

"Awwwww, Clementine, were you lonely?" she coos, scratching Clem's shoulders and neck. While incredibly sweet and ridiculously adorable, Clem has been whiny and clingy since she came to them, has jumped on every available surface, and runs frequently. They keep her in the crate during the day to keep the house under control, but it's clearly making the poor dear miserable. The only thing she doesn't do is pee in the house which, thank God for small favors. "We should bring her into work. Grant always brings his dog in."

"You don't think she's too wild?" he asks. "If she eats Will's shoe we will never hear the end of it."

"I think she's high-strung with the adjustment and then being cooped up for so long," she says. "I know we can't leave her out in the apartment because she'll tear everything apart, but we can't have her in a crate all day. She needs the activity. She'll hang out in the offices, and we'll have the dog walker — or we can do it, if we have the time — take her out at least two or three times. That should keep her calm, right? Won't it, baby girl?" She turns her own puppy-dog eyes onto him.

"Works for me," he sighs, pulling her up to press her nose to his. "And your schedule is probably going to shift a little closer to mine, right?"

She hadn't thought of that. She won't have to go in as early in the morning. "Oh," she says. "Yeah. Probably."

He grins as he kisses her. "As if this wasn't awesome enough."

"As if we don't see each other enough," she smirks back.

Later, as he fits himself into an S-curve along her body, his nose in her collarbone, he says, "I'm really — congrats, Sloan. You earned this."

She thinks of where she was, all those lifetimes ago when she started at ACN, and she murmurs, "Mmmm. Couldn't've done it without you."

"Are you kidding? Of course you could've. You're —"

"Impressive?" she parrots, because it's his most dependable compliment.

He looks at her, a mix of affronted and amused but absolutely in love. He makes her feel special. "You know what? Yes. You're impressive."

"Sure. If you think so. But that doesn't mean I would have turned into a good anchor or reporter. Good econ professor or forecaster, sure. You're why I turned into a good anchor. I mean, come on, you set up my Twitter page four years ago. I had that terrible haircut and I didn't know how to ask a question."

He sifts through her hair, which is nearly as long as it was before she cut it, rubbing a piece through a piece between his fingers absentmindedly. "You're a genius. You would've figured this out."

"Not this quickly," she shifts so she's slightly under him. "Can't we just agree: Better together?"

He extends a fist for her to bump. "Agreed. "What do you want to do with your show? Like, what do you want it to be?"

"All economics, all the time," she jokes, and they stay up way too late plotting. They even get out a notepad and colored highlighters at one point.

It's a pretty good Valentine's Day. Her best, actually.

The next morning, Clem starts mewling as Don crates her up. "We have to take her in," Sloan says decisively. "She sounds so sad; leaving her there for fourteen hours and only two walks is inhumane. We got a dog, now we have to care for the dog."

Don stands and leashes Clem. "Fine, but you're telling Charlie."

"I can't tell Charlie. He just promoted me. I need to coast on goodwill a bit longer."

"Fine. We're sneaking the dog in."

"You've seen Annie, right? This will end poorly."

"I haven't, actually."

"Haven't what?"

"Seen Annie."

"Seriously, with all the crap you give me about not seeing classics?"

He shrugs. "I admit it's a lapse, particularly for an ex-theatre kid. It was just so ..."

"What?'

"Girly."

"Fine. Either you tell Charlie, or I'm telling Will there's a significant hole in your American musical theatre knowledge." She assumes Will absolutely hates Annie, but it's good leverage.

He faux-glowers at her. "You're devious, you know?"

"You love it," she smirks, straightening his tie. Today the tie is paired with a fitted Hilfiger buttondown, APC jeans, a Ted Baker blazer and his Clarks. He's been seriously upping his style game lately (she's a pretty great influence), though he still has plenty of the damn Gap flannel. But he's also randomly started to wear Hugo Boss and Tom Ford and Zegna suits to work from time to time, and she considers that a huge victory. He looks hot rumpled — hell, he's just kind of hot when in action, which is why she likes working with him so much — but the former Goldman analyst in her loves him in the suit. Especially when he inevitably rolls up the sleeves and loses the jacket. It's just all kinds of sexy.

"I really do. So I gotta tell you, I'm not a huge fan of Inside News. What does that mean?"

"Inside the stories." They'd talked about it last night.

"It sounds weird. Kind of porny, even. What do you think about Starting Line With Sloan Sabbith?"

"Starting Line?"

"Start of the evening, the jumping-off point, ahead of the news, you'll take them through the news. Plus, there's an alliteration."

She likes it. "See? I told you I wouldn't be half as good at this without you."

They're still discussing names and formatting and logos and the brand strategy stuff that he's just naturally good at as they enter her office thirty minutes later. "What if we used a panel — whoa! Jim. Hey!" he's standing behind her desk writing a note. "This isn't creepy at all."

"Sorry. Oh — wow — is that your dog?"

"This is Clem. We're going to try and keep her at work with us now since she gets lonely at home. Charlie doesn't know about her yet, but Don is absolutely going to tell him today."

"Hey Clem," he says, and she trots to him to get petted. "She's adorable."

"We like her a lot," Don says.

"Though she's a handful. She's going to need to stay away from Will's shoes."

"Anyways. I came by to say — I came by to say thank you. I talked to Charlie last night, and he told me about the show, and I think it's awesome. And you will be totally great and it's taken them way too long. I wanted to say thank you and congratulations, and I won't let you down. But then you weren't here, and I had a couple other things to say, so I started writing you a note."

"On paper? You could've emailed, texted, g-chatted, come back another time …"

"I admit, not my most well-thought-out idea," he says sheepishly. "Anyways! Thank you. I mean it. This is an incredible opportunity, and it means a lot to me. That's what I wanted to say. Thank you." He's rambling. It needs to stop.

"Thanks," she says. "There's still contract stuff to work out, but it's incredibly excited. And of course I would bring you. You've earned it."

"We should go out and celebrate this weekend," Don suggests. "We have belated Valentine's plans on Saturday night, but how about dinner on Sunday night? A double date — bring Hallie. This is big for both of you," he says, meaning Jim and Sloan. "We can try the Spotted Pig."

"Or we could cook for you guys! We haven't had anyone over since they put the stove in the kitchen," Sloan suggests. There's still some work to be done, but it's functional enough. "You two could come over." It's a good idea to get to know her EP's girlfriend. She'll be seeing Jim more than Hallie will.

"We can't cook, unless they want grilled cheese," Don says to her. "What do you say? Dinner Sunday."

"Sure, but … just you two and me. A two-plus-one-date. Not, like, a threesome. Just you … two … and me."

Don cocks his head. "Hallie busy? We can reschedule."

"I don't know, because Hallie is staying with friends right now," Jim says reluctantly. "Actually, let me amend: Hallie is staying with friends."

"Permanently?" Sloan checks.

"Yeah," Jim sighs, with a smile.

"This is new, or …"

"Last weekend," Jim says.

"Sorry to hear that," Don winces.

"What the hell happened?" Sloan asks, and Don non-subtly elbows her. She shrugs in response.

Jim lifts a shoulder. "The everyday stuff was just harder than we thought, I guess." Sloan nods, then falls silent. She doesn't really know how that goes, but she completely gets having something that you thought was great and strong and made of granite turn out to be made of sand. "She's not crazy about New York — just doesn't like it. She would prefer to be in D.C. or LA or Boston. And, you know, we'd been dating for so long, but we'd never had to spend that much time together, and then there's dishes and laundry and the way I arrange the towel closet and the fact that there is a towel closet. Like, why do you need an entire closet just full of towels? Why can't you put clothes in there too?"

"Because towels are damp and you —" she starts to explain, since she had had a similar discussion with Don about using his bedroom closet for food, since his kitchen hadn't had much storage. but Don cuts her off with, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

"Anyways. It was a lot."

"Yeah," Don says. "Drinks tonight? We can grab Neal. Guy's night."

"Sure," Jim says. "Though I'm more than happy to just do a dinner Sunday to celebrate the show."

"Nah, let's do drinks," Don smiles warmly, and she's reminded that she married one of the good guys.

"Sure," Jim says, finally smiling back.

"And we'll grab lunch once the contracts are worked out and the show can begin staffing," Sloan smiles.

"Alright," Jim says. "I should — go. Work. Cute dog. Again."

"Thanks," she says. After she leaves she turns to Don. "Well that sucks."

"The breakup? Yeah."

"You're not going to … McHale him tonight, are you?"

"McHale?"

"Yeah. Mac is already a verb — you know, to mack, like to kiss— so I had to use that."

"What's McHale-ing?"

"I dunno … Set him up? Ask him too many personal questions?"

He stares at her. "Sloan, his live-in girlfriend left the week before Valentine's Day. I'm going to get him shitfaced."

"Oh," she considers. "No strippers."

"Sloan, it's the day after Valentine's Day. They're all at home sleeping."

"Actually, tonight seems like a really great day for a stripper's bottom line — most clients were out with wives and girlfriends last night."

He looks horrified. "You actually hear the words coming out of your mouth, right?"

Sarai calls her that morning with congratulations and a demand for lunch, that day. Even though she has a show at two, she's learned not to say no, she she readily accepts. As she's walking into Don's office to tell him she'll be out for an hour, she hears a great crash, and she braces herself for a scene. Sure enough, Clem has knocked over Don's landline and planted herself on the desk. All of his papers are on the floor. Sloan bursts out laughing. "It's going well, I see?"

"I — she tried to sit in my lap," Don protests.

"Can you take her for a walk? She probably needs air. Don't you, baby girl?" Sloan says, reaching down to pet Clem's face with both hands.

"You wanna come?"

"Meeting with Sarai," she says. "That's what I came to tell you."

"Oh, ok," he says. "I think you should go for one-point-five. Minimum. Start at two. Will makes seven, Elliot makes four, you deserve more than a million."

"Yes, sir," she mocks, kissing him. "I'll talk to you later, OK? And take the dog out before she pees on the carpet."

As she's waiting for the elevator, Kenzie shouts her name from behind. "Charlie told me," she says, tripping up to her and wrapping her arms around Sloan tightly. "This is wonderful, Sloan, you'll be great."

"Thanks," she says, stepping into the elevator. "You coming down?"

"Sure," Kenzie steps in. "Are you excited?"

"I am. And thanks for giving me Jim."

"Of course. He's more than ready and I'm just happy he can, you know, get this opportunity but still be nearby. And you two are going to be great. We should celebrate."

"Absolutely. You know, Don and I were going to go out with Jim on Sunday to do that, but why don't we make it a party? We can hold it at our place. That way, it won't be awkward." Screw Don's lack of faith in their cooking; she has a stove now, dammit.

"Sure. Why would it be awkward?"

"Oh, I just meant it might be kind of awkward for Jim if he felt he was tagging along on our date, because of Hallie."

"What?"

Shit.

"Uh, Hallie and Jim. Broke up. Don's taking him out for drinks tonight. He says he needs to get shitfaced."

"They broke up? Why?"

"Any chance we can go back to dinner? Party at our place. Sunday night. You and Will. Jim and Neal and Maggie and Gary, because I'm poaching Gary, FYI. Julia and Elliot and Charlie. Would Charlie socialize with us? Doesn't matter; he's invited." She's rambling, and Don will kill her.

"You don't know why they broke up?"

"You'll have to ask him. He said the day-to-day stuff got too hard."

"That's a stupid reason."

"I don't know — if you're going to be with someone for a long time, that can get a lot longer if the day-to-day stuff is hard." She steps out of the elevator. "I have to meet Sarai, I'll see you later. Dinner, our place, Sunday!"

Sarai's typing busily away on her iPhone by the time Sloan gets there, and she sets it down, still blinking, to give her a hug. "Congratulations. You'll be great," Sarai smiles. "Now, let's talk how much money you deserve."

"They're offering a million. Don says I should ask for at least two."

"How's Don taking the offer, by the way?"

She crinkles her brow. She hasn't asked. Is this a thing? "He's really excited."

"That's good. I assume you'll be making more than him, so I was just asking."

She shrugs. "He's been making more than me for our entire relationship, I came with more savings, we merged bank accounts and forgot to sign a prenup, so I'd say he's pretty happy with it." Whether or not he would be intimidated by her salary had not even crossed her mind.

"Totally awesome," Sarai says. "He's absolutely right about the offer, by the way. Let's get you some money."

After lunch, she pulls out the phone. Don's texted: Don't kill me, but Clem knocked over a lamp. Charlie's not happy.

She texts back, It's fine. I accidentally invited Will, Mac, and like ten other people over for dinner on Sunday. But that's not a big deal either.

A beat. Yeah, yours is a lot worse. We're catering. And you're paying with your new salary.

That night, Don slides in behind her, smelling of booze and ... Cigars? Disgusting. "Did you guys smoke?"

"It's what men do," he says. "It's how you get over a girl that broke your heart."

"Noted. Go shower."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I don't want to smell like a bar."

He groans as she shoves him out of the bed, but complies. Seven minutes later he's sliding behind her again. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," he sighs, settling in against her back. Her eyes close lazily. "Don't get me wrong, I love you — but damn, I am happy I never have to date again."

The rest of the week is a blur of meetings with every network suit imaginable to hammer out the contract and to start developing the idea for the show. It's not done by the end of the week, but it's pretty damn close. She starts the ask at three, and they surprisingly don't back down too far. The guest list for the event grows from ten to closer to thirty — addition to Jim and Mac and Will, she invites Neal, Julia, Elliot and his wife, Maggie, and a producers and staff from each of their shows over for the dinner. Catering actually turns out to be the best idea, because on Friday, Charlie informs her that she and Don will be spending the entirety of Sunday afternoon at an obedience class for adolescent dogs at Riverside Park. No negotiations.

"What if she's the worst dog at the park?" Don asks as they walk Clem to the 87th Street dog run Sunday after brunch. "What if all the other dogs make fun of her? What if she tries to make friends and they reject her?"

"You know what, Danny Tanner, I bet even if the other dogs don't let her sit at their table during snack time, we'll raise her with enough confidence and inner strength that she'll persevere," she snarks back. "More importantly, we have to do this today? We have people coming over, for food and for drink."

"Yeah, that's your fault," Don says with a snerk noise. "And what, you think you have to be home to clean? Sloan, what brand dish soap do we own?"

"The ... strong kind," she says. She doesn't need to know these things. "That ... Smells good."

The class is led by a twenty-year-old in Keds and a ponytail who immediately declares Sloan "too much of a pushover." Don starts laughing so hard he almost falls over until the dog whisperer declares that he's scared of Clem and that's "taking all of his power." But by the end, Clem is able to obey four commands, which is three more than she could handle previously. Everyone walks home happy.

Delfino's delivers two trays of pasta and sides just after six, and pretty soon, their kitchen is bustling with a half-dozen early-arriving guests. "This is … domestic," Neal says as he enters the kitchen.

"It's an apartment Neal, that's what they are used for; they are literally called domiciles by the Census," Don says. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Beer," Neal says, "would be great." Clem runs up to him. "And the dog, the dog is here too." He seemed in awe. Or stoned.

"Yeah, because she lives with us. Because we got a dog and that is it," Sloan cocks her head. "Everything OK?" It's the first time they've had people over, and they're all acting strange.

"What? Yeah. This place looks great. It's just ..."

"It's you guys, in a home. That's strange," Tess says bluntly. Maggie, carefully peeling the label off her beer bottle with her thumbnail, seems to shrug in agreement.

"You remember when we got married, right?" Sloan asks. "There were cupcakes."

"Lots of them," Don adds.

"Yeah. And I thought you had broken up months before that, until there were the cupcakes. Hence, it's strange," Tess says.

"It's very nice, though," Neal reassures hastily. "We're happy for you. And thanks so much for having us over — Sloan, the new show. That's amazing. Congratulations."

She smiles. If she steps back and thinks about it, her and Don being together, married to each other, renovating an apartment, still seems a little strange to her. In the present, it's something she is fully engaged in and wants and is proud of, but she still does have moments when she steps back and realizes how quickly they've moved. Last year at this time, most of the staff didn't know they were dating. But honestly, it also means they're doing something right if they're this low-key. They're not gooey people, and she finds PDA nauseating. She would actually kill Don if he grabbed her ass in the newsroom, the way Will has with Mac. But she likes this, likes them, being with their friends. Before she has any more time to think about it, though, Mac and Will and Elliot and Charlie sashay in, and attention turns toward the former two, as per usual. Sloan is relieved. Mac busies herself finding everyone plates and cups, Will grouses at them and then thanks God that they're messing up an apartment that isn't his, and Charlie winks at her jovially.

Jim arrives last, sloppy and slightly disheveled and overwhelmed-looking, around seven, and the night officially gets started. There are toasts, and more toasts, and jokes about Jim getting shot in the ass and her doing broadcasts in Japanese. She leans against Don, who leans against the counter — partly as a way to normalize their relationship for their colleagues, but also because he is her husband, and they're in their house, and she wants to. Jim, who normally basks in Mac's glow, hangs back uneasily, nursing a beer and smiling at the ribbing. As they start grabbing food and plates off the new dining-room table (it's square and seats 12, and is amazing), she grabs his arm. "You OK?" she asks as Don handles the crowd. "Because this is a celebration, celebrating you, and celebrations are happy, and you are not happy."

"Sorry," he says. "It's just, nobody knows about …"

"Mac knows," she admits.

"What?"

"Have you ever successfully kept something from Mac? No. So shut your piehole," she scolds. "Be festive. It'll be OK."

He sighs. "Yes, fine, festive. Do you think there's breaking news somewhere?"

"No."

"Doesn't matter — I can go break it."

"No, you stay here, and you drink. You are now my EP and I will not allow you to wallow, Jim, I won't."

"You're forcing frivolity?"

"And merriment!"

"You're going to be fantastic to work with, you know," he says sarcastically.

It's an easy, laughter-filled night. She shifts between groups during toasts and gives tours of the apartment. People linger for a while after the food, but eventually people start slipping out — Martin to a girl's, Elliot and Jeannie home to their daughters, Charlie to Connecticut. Soon there's a core group of twelve or so parked in the kitchen, Will dominating the conversation. But she looks out into the living room, where she sees Don, Mac, and Jim huddled in a clutch. Huh. She heads out.

Don's on the couch, Jim's in a chair, and Mac's on the chair's armrest. She joins them, crawling into Don's space, tenting her knees over his lap. He slides an arm around her shoulder. Jim is rambling as Mac pats his back comfortingly. She looks back to the kitchen; conversation has continued uninterrupted.

"It's just, a year ago, I would've thought Hallie and I would still be together. Not married, of course, but together. I liked her. I liked us. And I would've never predicted you guys would be married. You two are married. Like, what the hell?" Jim exclaims, then looks shocked. "I'm sorry, that was really rude, and I don't mean it like that."

"No, man, it's fine," Don shrugs. "I don't think we would have thought that this time last year either."

"He's right," Sloan affirms. "Not till ... May, or so." That was about when he started asking her to move in with him.

"March," he shrugs.

"Really?" she asks. "You knew you wanted to get married in March?"

"Not … the details. But generally, yeah … that's when it started to … come together." God help him, he blushes. Nobody else can see it.

She leans forward and kisses his cheek. "It took me until May," she says.

"Well, you can't always be the smartest person in the relationship."

Jim stares at them, a beer bottle resting against his cheek. "So you dated for ... Six months and then decided that not only did you like each other enough to keep dating, but you wanted to be married. How? Seriously. How."

"How'd we get married? Well, we went to City Hall …"

"Not what I mean."

"Well what do you mean?" Sloan chimes in. She's borderline uncomfortable, but also genuinely curious.

"Just … how did you know?"

Sloan actually doesn't have an answer. She doesn't know, for sure, that it was the right choice; she doesn't know if they'll make it to 'forever.' In some ways, marriage made their relationship even riskier, by attaching actual stakes and assumptions about her future to it. Legally and emotionally banking on changing with someone for fifty years is a big risk. And she hates risk. She's mediocre with uncertainty, even less good at managing a personal life competently. She's bad at attachments, and Don is worse at commitment, if their pasts are any indication.

But ever since Don started asking her to move in with him, she's felt comfortable and even confident in them. On the worst day and worst week of her life, as she was dealing with Genoa and its radioactive, radiating fallout, she just wanted to share the experience with him. That was significant, she thought. At least, that's what she was banking on when she said I will.

"I don't know," Don says. "But for what it's worth, with Hallie? I think you two made the right choice."

"Don't say that. They were having trouble getting used to living together," Mac objects. "It's not a big thing. It's fixable. You can fix this."

"No, but I think that it's not a big thing makes it more important," Don says.

"Explain that," Mac says.

"Listen, I'm not qualified to give advice —"

"He's really not. We've been married five months," Sloan points out. Whatever road they're about to go down, it's a bad one.

"Jeez, thanks," Don says dryly. "Anyways, what I was going to say, I think it's great to be compatible and really enjoy and have fun going to the park and the art gallery and the beach together. That's important. But disagreeing, having fights, being pretty different, that's not the death knell either — you can have different political views, and Sloan's preferred wakeup time is, like four A.M., which is when I'd like to go to bed. And her definition of a good price-point for a couch is absurd. But I do think it's important to be boring with the person you're committing too, which is why I think Jim and Hallie made the right choice."

"Bored with each other?" Jim asks skeptically.

"So we're boring?" Sloan raises an eyebrow. He better talk fast.

"No. Boring with each other," Don says. "That shit you said, about not being able to get through the day to day? That's important, especially if you start thinking you're going to be with someone for a long time. You're not always fighting, you're not always having sex, you're not always having the best time of your life, and you're not always doing anything particularly significant. For God's sake, you're still a person, and there's shit to do. Some days you have to take the dog to the obedience group, and someone has to wait for the cable guy to come when the Internet goes out, and you have to assemble the bookshelf. And none of it's great and none of it's terrible, but it's stuff that you have to do, and now you decide to share that with someone else. You have to like that person, like doing the boring stuff together, since you're sharing space and checking accounts and decisionmaking power about vacations and the bathroom color and the grocery list. Obviously you can't and shouldn't be, like, everything to the other person in the relationship, but I do think you get bored with each other if you can't be boring with each other. When half the time you spend together is watching Netflix or sleeping, you better like doing those things with each other."

"And don't ever watch ahead on Netflix. Even if it's Law and Order," Sloan adds. She'd learned that the hard way.

"I'm just saying, if you're not OK arguing about a wagon-wheel coffee table it's going to be a long life together. "

"That's it!" Mac exclaims. "Bruno Kirby and Carrie Fisher. That's who you two are."

Sloan squints, because the reference sounds familiar, but she can't place it. Don smiles. "I think they end up with the best deal of everyone in the damn movie."

"Which movie?"

"When Harry Met Sally. You haven't seen it."

"That's true of most movies."

"I have it somewhere. We can watch it."

She remembers something. "'I'll have what she's having,' right?"

He grins. "I am seriously so proud of you right now."

"So which ones are Bruno Kirby and Carrie Fisher?"

"They're the best friends. And they have the normal relationship that you're supposed to compare Harry and Sally too," Mac says.

"They're the ones who, at the end of the day, know what they want and quit fucking around," Don shrugs. "It's no less a legitimate relationship than Harry and Sally's. They just recognize what they have sooner. And then they spend the rest of the movie arguing about the damned coffee table and fucking up at charades and bouncing their friends' shit off of one another. Generally, they're boring. But that's most of what a relationship is! I'm not saying that the crazy-passionate stuff isn't great — and we have plenty of that —"

"Damn right we do," Sloan says, slightly indignant. They are great in bed, thankyouverymuch. He rolls his eyes, exasperated at having to explain himself so many times.

"—But my point is that, at the end of the day, they're the partners who are comfortable sharing the quotidien stuff with one another, and they respect each other. And that's what you have to be to one another. So if that's not working out, then yes, I do think that Jim and Hallie made the right choice."

"You're still going to have hard

things that happen, and fights, and friction," Mac says. "That's not a reason to give up."

"You absolutely will," Don says, "and that's why it's a bad sign you're disagreeing about the small stuff. Look, people are different, and when you start a relationship, you realize that you overlap in important ways, which is good and why you're attracted to each other. But those important ways, like mutual interests or compatible lifestyles, might not be the most important ways. One of the most important ways, I would argue, is an easiness during the boring parts of life. And if you don't have that, it's problematic. I'm not trying to make a Grand Unified Theory on relationships or anything, just trying to say why I think it's a good thing Hallie and Jim broke up. And by the way, Mac, you and Will have that easiness, and Harry and Sally had that easiness. Well, they did eventually. Just so it's clear we're not fighting a proxy war."

"I'm not saying we are," Mac says quickly, but Sloan doesn't quite believe her — she looks far too reassured by Don's words. She herself is still not entirely satisfied. "I just …"

"Want me to be happy?" Jim says ruefully. He's been quiet through Mac's ranting and Don's somehow-romantic soliloquies. "I know, sis." He stands, kissing Mac's temple. "I … need another drink."

Mac stares after him. "You think he'll be OK?"

"Of course," Don says. "Did you even like Hallie?"

"She was nice," Mac shrugs. "She seemed to make him happy. Sure, I guess I liked her. I barely knew her."

"You gotta let them do their own thing," Don points out.

"You sound like Charlie," Mac pouts as she sucks on her drink's straw.

"You really think the reason we work is because we're so boring?" Sloan asks later, after everyone is gone and as she is settling into bed. She's in one of his flannel shirts and thick, oatmeal-colored socks — she's started wearing them since he always thinks her feet are freezing. Using the remote, she toggles the Amazon Prime to When Harry Met Sally, which she purchases.

He smiles at her as he comes out of the bathroom. "There's nobody else I'd rather watch Netflix with," he says. At her face, he says, "What? You want to skip the last eight seasons of Law & Order? We can start on The Office. You're going to love it, I promise."

"That's not the point. You think we work because we're boring?" She adjusts her glasses so she can see.

"What? Yes. No. Whichever answer is right," he says quickly. "I don't … I don't think our relationship is boring. And I don't think we're bored. You got that right? It's just, I like doing the boring things with you. I like the other stuff too — a lot, don't get me wrong — but one of the reasons I knew I wanted to marry you was that I liked doing the boring stuff with you. That I'm not bored when we do those things." He kisses her.

She leans back. "We are boring, though, aren't we?"

"I don't think so?"

"We took the dog to obedience class today, cleaned up the living room, and had our coworkers over for dinner," she says. "God, how did we get here?"

"OK, fine. And would you rather be doing that or … going to a naked rave on a fjord in Iceland with glowsticks?"

"Fjords are in Norway."

"Point still stands."

"And that's your idea of an exciting time? An ice rave?"

"You're deflecting, professor."

"Am I at that rave with you or alone?"

"Why does that matter?"

"Because if I'm alone, I'd rather be doing chores with you," she turns onto her side and runs a hand over his ribs and smirks. "And if I'm with you, it doesn't matter."

He smirks too. "I see what you did there," he says. "I'm smart like that."

"You are, are you?"

"I am," he kisses her deeply. "So you don't care that we're boring and boring with each other?"

"As long as it's well established that we have a fabulous sex life, yes, I don't care. I kinda like it," she admits.

"Yeah?"

"We're partners, and equals, and I like that," she says, "and I'm not stupid enough to think a rave in Iceland or … epic fights followed by makeup sex twice a week is a better day than playing Rock Paper Scissors over who has to work from home and meet the Time Warner guy."

He rubs a thumb against her cheek. "I love you, you know."

"I love you too," she says. "I just bought When Harry Met Sally, you want to watch it?"

He groans. "We own that. Did you buy it or rent it? Because we could watch it for free, we just would've had to hook up the DVD player."

"It was eleven dollars," she protests. "Come on."

"Let's just watch," he sighs. "But remember, Bruno Kirby? Best character in the damn film."