He gives her a kiss on the cheek before crossing over to his side of the table, reaching for the champagne bottle before he settles with one knee on his chair. "My little elves," he answers. If the smile on his face looks smug it's because his "little elves" had actually just been the one elf and if Derek ever catches wind of that designation, he'll probably rip Newt's face off. But Derek's been popping in to visit him, keeping him company and keeping him from going crazy when everyone else had been otherwise occupied while Newt was sentenced to bed rest. So maybe he'll save the elf comments for when it's actually Christmas and see what happens then. "It was Derek, actually, he's got that upper body strength I just can't beat. I totally carried the ice bucket, though."

She keeps saying that things are amazing, and it makes him brighten a little more every time. There's a part of him that wishes she doesn't seem so stunned because that just means that nobody's ever done this kind of thing for her before; but the other part is overwhelmingly pleased that he could be the first one. He watches her for a moment, taking in how lovely she looks right now before focusing his attention on the bottle. "You know what else is amazing is going to be if I can get this open without spraying half the champagne all over the place," he says as he tears at the foil, removes the wire cage. He pauses, balancing the bottle on his raised knee as he raises an eyebrow. "If this doesn't work out, say nice things at my funeral."

He twists at the cork, pulling hard until he feels it give and hears the pop. Lo and behold, everything remains intact and after punching the air with his fist to celebrate his victory, he pours both of them a glass. "You're going to have to come up with the toast this time," he tells her, setting her glass in front of her. "I think I wore myself the last time."