"I wanna touch ya in a parka in Russia." – 3OH!3

Henry wrapped his flimsy jacket around his shoulders and shivered. He was visiting his parents in Moscow for Christmas, and his American wardrobe had no effect against the bitingly frigid air. "Snow," he grumbled, stalking forward awkwardly in his dad's too-big snow boots.

He saw her from across the street, trudging through the slush in a more sensible thick parka. "Whitney?" he called, walking toward her for a closer look. If she'd had her hood up he never would have known, but it was down and he could see her face. It was unmistakable.

"Henry?" she gasped, incredulous, running across the road. "I can't believe you're here!"

"I'm spending Christmas with my parents," he explained, grinning and ignoring the snowflakes becoming embedded in his hair. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm visiting my Babushka," she said. "Where are you staying?" He gestured up the street. "That's really close to where I am."

"You should come over for dinner," he suggested.

"Oh, no, I really don't want to intrude or anything…"

"It's fine," he said, taking her hand. "Come on."

"Thanks so much for dinner, Mrs. Griffin," Whitney said politely when she'd finished eating.

"Well, you're very welcome," she smiled. "We always appreciate having Henry's friends over."

"And you can tell us the truth," laughed Zafer Griffin, "Henry hasn't been getting into any trouble all the way in America, has he?"

"Dad," he groaned. Whitney smirked.

"No, he's been a model citizen," she smiled, winking at Henry, guessing correctly that his parents would not be thrilled to discover that he'd been fighting Russian spies. "Actually, it's funny that we should run into each other, I've been thinking of moving back to DC. My brother's living up there, and I don't like my new school. I miss Smithson." Henry's stomach leapt.

"You should!" he said. "That would be awful."


"Oh…" His face flushed as he realized his mistake. "Uh, usually Jasper's around to translate for me. I meant 'good.'"

"Oh," she laughed. "So… when are you going back to the States?"

"Monday," said Henry.

"Cool," she said, standing up. "I should go home and talk to my parents. Maybe I can fly to Washington with you. Thanks for dinner again, Mr. and Mrs. Griffin."

A few days later, Henry and Whitney sat side by side on a flight back to Washington, DC. She was flipping through a Sky Mall magazine, and he was struggling with his MP3 player. Giving up, he turned to his companion, realizing something.

"Hey, you know, we never talked about what happened back in Washington, in the kitchen." She looked up apprehensively, knowing immediately what he was talking about.

"Oh, well," she said, her voice unusually high. "Your hand was on my shoulder."

"Like this."

"Yeah, and I was a lot closer… like this."

"And then you kind of looked up…"

"And then-"

"Well, I don't remember that part happening last time," he said, sitting back. Whitney blushed. Trying to break the tension, he pulled his MP3 player back out of the seat pocket in front of him and glanced at the screen, which had finally lit up. "Hey, I think it's working now!" He read the title of the song currently playing: "My First Kiss." "Never mind," he muttered, quickly shoving the device into his pocket. He glanced at Whitney, who was staring out the window. "Hey, listen…" She turned back to him, and, embarrassed, he pursed his lips and looked away from her. "I've never done this before, but… will you go outside with me?"

"Outside the airplane?" she asked, confused. "We're 35,000 feet up."

"That's not what I meant," he groaned sinking into his seat. "I meant-"

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh." She bit her lip and looked down at her fiddling hands in her lap. "Yeah, okay." He smiled awkwardly, their shoulders brushed, and the plane began to descend.

A/N: No, Henry probably doesn't listen to 3OH!3. Jasper must have put that song on his MP3 player. Speaking of Jasper, I saw a red Smart Car the other day and got all excited. This must be what fans of Edward Cullen feel when they see a silver Volvo.